


Refracted

by Walking_Pillar_of_Salt



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood, F/M, I ship johnlock I swear, Season 4 Spoilers, Violence, i'm sorry in advance, welp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:52:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9162832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walking_Pillar_of_Salt/pseuds/Walking_Pillar_of_Salt
Summary: The shooting, and the aftermath.





	

Sherlock isn't afraid.

This isn't the first time he's stared down the barrel of a gun. Hell, this isn't the first time he's stared down a gun on this _street._ The woman holding it is determined, he can tell, but her shaking hands give away her fear, and Sherlock's blood is singing because he's won, and it's been so long since the stakes were this high that it almost feels like he's on crack again, gleefully cavorting and cartwheeling and lighter than air.

The gun she's holding glistens - obviously, it's been well-cared for - despite having spent years tucked away at the bottom of a fat handbag, nestled next to dreams of glory and honor and blood splatters, growing in the dark corners formed by the resentment of a career wanted but never had, a want for the excitement, the chance, the glorious chemical cocktail endorphin _rush,_ and Sherlock understands this woman, suddenly, and knows exactly where to dig.

And Mary falls, and John comes, and suddenly there's too much of everything at once. The room's an explosion of noise, with Mycroft's detail whisking the woman he underestimated out of the room while John goes to Mary and they cry, softly, foreheads pressed together. Mary strokes his face, and John weeps, and Sherlock doesn't know where to put his eyes, because this moment is not his to observe, not his to keep. But then Mary looks to him, eyes bright and cheeks red and Sherlock wonders how such a person could choose to save him at all, how she could ever have known him and weighed his soul and hers and decide that he was worth more.

John holds her, close and tight, as if keeping her near would prevent her from slipping away, and her eyes loll in her skull and she falls back, sliding against the hard aquarium furniture, leaving blood as she goes.

John makes a guttural animal sound, harsh and high and keening, as he's brought low by the woman that kept him grounded, and all Sherlock can do is watch and wonder how the aftermath of someone else taking a bullet can be so much more painful than taking one himself.

The aquarium's cooling system starts, suddenly, and an awkward whir fills the room that would be quiet if not for John's wet, choking gasps that make it sound almost as if he, like Mary must've, had blood rising through his lungs and up his throat and Sherlock is coughing so hard he can barely stand. He stumbles, devoid of his usual grace, and sits roughly near Mary, but not too close because the blood's still spreading from the body that John's cradling in his arms, the blond curls bobbing gently as his body spasms.

Mycroft is eyeing Sherlock warily, a disoriented look twisting his mouth into a frown, the same one that he always wore when they were young and someone pressed a wailing infant to his chest. He looked bemused, hurt _betrayed_ , because he sees the sentiment in the fat tears rolling down Sherlock's cheeks, down the cheekbones that were fuller than they had been since before the cocaine, since the sweet summer mornings and rocking benches and acceptance found in mutual scorn directed towards the emotions that they had both cast aside.

Mycroft clacks his umbrella against the aquarium floor and, against the backdrop cast by the lights in the aquarium, ebbing and flowing with the movements of the enclosure and the great beasts within, seems, somehow, less imperious than usual, his arrogance dimmed, humbled by the bereaved man rocking, as one would a baby, the corpse of the woman he barely knew and never had but loved intensely, despite it all.

Mycroft takes a hesitant half step, and after a moment of deliberation, places his hand on John's shoulder and murmurs, "My condolences," before walking, briskly, out of the room, as if has somewhere more important to be.

Sherlock moves toward John, too, and starts a quiet, "I'm sorry" before John looks at Sherlock, desolate, his eyes rimmed by crow's feet and endless rings of red and rage, accusatory and dark, his sky-bright eyes the color of the shadows cast on the aquarium walls and Sherlock's heart beats viscerally in his chest in front a creature that he knows would tear his throat out with his _teeth_ if he thought it would change a goddamn thing.

"Why," John asks, teeth clenched and lungs heaving, "did she choose you?" Sherlock stares. "Why, dammit? Sherlock, why?"

John laughs, suddenly, and it's an awful sound, just as animal as his grieving had been but crueler, like a hyena, circling a corpse in the desert. "You have the answers, don't you? Don't you always? That's why you're so confident, right? That's why you fucking promised me you would keep her safe?"

Sherlock looks away, to the shark staring at him through the glass. "John, I -" "Leave, Sherlock." John interrupts. "Please. Give me that."

Sherlock turns to face him, again, but John's eyes are only for Mary, her unblinking eyes staring with more intensity than they had any right to at the shark in the enclosure.

"Are you -" Sherlock begins, and John, any trace of civility gone, shouts _"LEAVE_ _!"_ and Sherlock stands, wrapping his coat tightly around himself, and walks out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Note before having watched season: This season is going to be a doozy, I can already tell
> 
> Note after having watched season: I'm actually fucking pissed about how bad this season was. The plot made no sense, the main villian was atrocious, NO ONE WAS IN CHARACTER, the visual effects were hideous, and the show's attempt to remind us of when it was actually good through liberal use of fanservice was genuinely insulting. I've let this series pull at my heartstrings for too long. There are much better things to watch than that steaming pile of shit. Jesus. If season 5 even happens, I'm not watching it. I refuse to enable Moffat and Gatniss as they destroy the remnants of what once was one of the best shows on TV. 
> 
> If you liked season 4, that's your own opinion. Honestly, I just needed a place to vent. Sorry if that upset anyone. I wrote this little ditty after I first watched the six thatchers, because I actually liked Mary, and her dying made me feel feelings. 
> 
> I never wrote much for Sherlock before (mostly because I was 14 when season 3 came out) but I'm not writing anything else for this damn show. I cannot believe that the BBC even aired that. I would have preferred waiting another 3 years for something good than gotten whatever that was.


End file.
